Freedom Fighters
by Rantzilla
Summary: They needed to kill him. That was their only purpose. Living, dying, killing, torturing, being tortured, none of that mattered. They had but one goal: Find Braginski, take him out, and liberate the entire world.
1. Time is Not on Our Side

**A/N: **This is an AU set during the Cold War times kind of as a what-if spin-off of what may have happened had a nuclear war been started. All will be explained in later chapters, don't worry. The first chapter was originally going to be sixteen or so pages long, but I shortened it to six because really, who wants to read that much at once? Just kidding, I'm sure people do but this is more for me than you. Short chapters will keep me writing and updating this story. Speaking of, chapters up until chapter 6 have been written. So when I get to that chapter expect more spaced updates, if you actually decide to follow this story pff.

It's not meant to be a funny story but I'll try to throw in some humor from time to time. Just not in the first few chapters. And yes. There will be romance. Somewhere in here.

Enjoy! And sorry if it sucks, this is really my first time stepping away from the humor/romance category since The 24th Hour. 

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><p><span>Freedom Fighters<span>

_Chapter One: Time is Not on Our Side_

**Partners: Vash Zwingli and Gilbert Beilshcmidt**

**Current Assignment: Kill the three guards on patrol at the front gates to allow a smooth escape for the three agents inside.**

**Progress: …**

**Condition: Freezing**

He breathed in and out to calm his nerves.

And there stupid, arrogant Gilbert was, unhelpfully smirking at him.

He tried to block the idiot and focus so he could complete the difficult task at hand.

Well, not exactly _difficult_, at least not for someone as skilled as Vash. But the pressure was on this time.

Gilbert had challenged Vash, saying he knew Vash wouldn't be able to get a headshot off on the first shot, and although Vash didn't enjoy the idea of getting yelled at by America for playing games during an important mission, Gilbert had inadvertently insulted his expert marksmanship (and pride as a professional sniper). Vash wouldn't stand for that. So Vash told him he could and would, and the stakes were high.

If Gilbert won, Vash had to treat him to as many beers as one could possibly consume in a bar of the German's choosing, but if Vash won, Gilbert had to dance around home base in a tutu singing the Russian national anthem all day long.

Vash knew he couldn't stand to lose, lord knows how many beers that man could guzzle down in one night, and Vash had been saving his money for something important (he didn't really know what, but it was still important to save). "Spending foolishly always comes back to bite you in the ass," one of Vash's many monetary philosophies.

He had to do this right, in any case, since money and pride weren't the only two things on the line, seeing as four other agents were still inside the base, last he heard. Probably more important to do this correctly for their sake... but Gilbert _could _guzzle a helluva lot of beers...

He looked at the men patrolling the perimeter of the huge, prison-like base down below and briefly wondered what their names were. Then he was seeing them through the Mil-dot reticle in his scope (laser rangefinders were far too expensive, and Vash liked this way better anyway as it was how he was trained) and figured that it didn't really matter. He watched and waited, switching from one guard to the next. Only three. Mid-afternoon and there were only three guards on patrol.

One turned the right corner and disappeared from sight.

He turned his scope on the other two.

"_Come on..._" Vash whispered, finger lightly stroking the trigger. He could practically feel Gilbert's skeptical eyes scrutinizing his back, and tried harder to ignore him.

One of the two remaining guards nodded to the other stiffly, strode to the left side, and turned the corner.

Vash turned the scope on the last guard and started calculating.

'_About 2.1 yards in height times 1,000 is 2,100. Approximately 14.6 Mils. 2100 divided by 14.6 is roughly 144 yards. Range is 144 yards. Angle is about 45 degrees, 144 times the cosine of 45 is.. 75.6. Shooting 12.4 degrees upwards and 4 degrees to the left to compensate for gravity and windage.'_

Vash sucked in a breath.

_The target is stationary._

He pulled the trigger, the bullet piercing straight through the forehead of the unsuspecting guard moments later. A small fountain of blood spouted on impact and cascaded with the now dead guard to the cold ground below. Vash restrained himself from letting out a '_whoop!_' of victory, because one of the other guards may have heard the gunshot and could report it to the base before Vash or Gilbert could do anything about it. They both held their breath in the frigid air, but after a few moments with no alarm raised, they relaxed. No alarms set off meant Vash had done the job and done it right.

...'_WHOOP!_'

Vash let out a soft sigh and leaned back on the trunk of the tree, mentally preparing himself for kill number two and saving his triumphant smirk for later, as he needed to focus now.

"What was _that_?" he heard Gilbert question as Vash lifted his sniper rifle again. Gilbert was aghast, jaw slack in awe as his eyes flickered over to the Swiss man who was now reloading his sniper rifle with the speed of a trained professional (which he was).

Unable to restrain himself, Vash smirked and sat up straight. He rested the recoil pad on his thigh and looked Gilbert straight in the eye as he said, "_that_, my friend_, _is precision- a thing that you clearly lack. It takes years of mental and physical training, and you've only been trained for what... two months? You're an amateur at best."

Gilbert's mouth snapped closed as he glared heatedly at his supposed 'partner.' Vash mentally giggled at the expression and his victory over his new partner, then nearly outwardly frowned at the fact that his mental self just _giggled._

"Pff," Gilbert snorted, obviously trying to recover from the blow to his ego. Vash rolled his eyes at the pathetic attempt (in a vain attempt to recover from his own mental blow to the ego). "Screw you! I'm twice as accurate as you and three times as good-looking! What took you years to learn only took me two months!"Gilbert took up his own sniper rifle and aimed carefully before Vash could process what was going on. "Watch and learn, smart ass!"

Gilbert fired as Vash hissed a rushed, "_you fucking imbecile!"_

Vash's head snapped back to the base just in time to see a guard that had just rounded the corner to the front side again crumple to the ground. Vash briefly had hope.

But the bullet merely clipped the targeted guard in the shoulder, undoubtedly shattering a part of the shoulder blade, but he could still move and breathe and talk and '_if we don't do something we're screwed_.' The other guard, hearing his comrade's calls for help, rushed around the building and to his aide moments later, chatting with his partner urgently as Gilbert bit his lip and Vash started cursing angrily under his breath, quickly bringing the scope up to eye level again. He zoned in on the two guards.

"_Shit fuck dammit," _muttered the Swiss, then angrily whipped his head around to look at a completely frozen Gilbert, "what the _fuck _are you doing? RELOAD AND SHOOT!"

Vash twisted his head back around and took aim, holding his breath as Gilbert clumsily reloaded behind him, fingers shaking in his rush to get a new bullet in the barrel. They were running out of time.

Vash knew this, and the pressure mounted. He bit his lip so hard it bled. In his scope, he saw the uninjured man removing a walkie-talkie from a calico vest pocket, he heard the idiot behind him still fumbling with his own sniper rifle, he tasted the blood on his lips, and he felt the cold metal of the trigger even through his glove and numbed fingers. There was no time to make calculations.

_'Roughly 2.2 yards, 2200, 13.7 Mils-'_

Now or never.

He sucked in a breath and pulled the trigger.

The bullet whizzed past the guard's face, almost causing him to drop his walkie-talkie. Then it hit Vash like a punch to the gut.

He hadn't accounted for the windage.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT!" Vash screeched, as he started reloading again, hands shaking uncontrollably as he knew his mistake could cost them the mission. No use lying to comfort himself.

Gilbert had reloaded by then, taking careful aim at the man who was talking furiously into the walkie-talkie. Vash tried to ignore the fact that he, the one with years of experience, was now falling apart and Gilbert was the one looking perfectly calm and in control. When had their roles been reversed?

Vash heard him breathe in sharply.

Both Vash and Gilbert watched tensely as the bullet hit the mark, both shattering the guard's hand and the walkie-talkie alike.

'_Lucky shot_,' Vash thought ruefully.

But it was far too late.

The cursing started again before Vash could stop himself.

The alarm went up moments later, nearly blocking out the continuous stream of curses emanating from the Swiss man, which grew in volume when the sirens started blaring.

Vash took up his sniper rifle once more after finally reloading, aiming at the two guards for the last time; however, his and Gilbert's position had been revealed, and both Russians had guns raised and pointed in their direction despite the injuries Gilbert had given them.

Vash's eyes widened.

'_What are these Russians made of?'_

And so commenced the hail of bullets.

"FUCK! Gilbert, MOVE!"

The German jolted and made a motion to jump off the tree in a way that wouldn't hurt, since they were so far up, and 'oh _boo hoo hoo, WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.'_

Vash gritted his teeth as he watched the idiot search for a good place to land.

"_TOO SLOW!" _ He kicked Gilbert roughly off the branch and would have laughed at the unmanly shriek had he not been grazed by a bullet in the upper part of his thigh after pushing the dumbass. Searing heat shot through his body like lightning and he retracted his outstretched leg with a hiss. He looked at the freshly bleeding wound, passing it off as minor, which merely meant no arteries had been severed, the worst case scenario, then he spun around on the branch, careful not to scrape his injured leg on anything while doing so. Holding his gun to his chest, he leapt out of their sniping spot and onto the pure snow below, his crimson blood spattering all over it upon his clumsy landing. He staggered, the immense pain from his leg forcing him to his knees. He closed his watering eyes and dropped his gun in favor of pressing both hands to the crimson-stained area of his pants, biting his lip to keep from crying out in pain.

"Fucking _ouch, _Vash, you didn't have to go and- whoa," the German had run around from the opposite side of the tree rubbing the back of his head (which he sorely bruised from the fall, he'll have you know) before he spotted the blood that coated the snow. He jogged over hurriedly with wide eyes as Vash pushed himself onto his feet with great pains, the bullets still ricocheting off the tree trunk behind them. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine for now," Vash replied honestly, pulling part of his green undershirt out from underneath his layers of clothing and yanking a Swiss army knife out from a vest pocket to hack some of his shirt off for a make-shift bandage. The German watched with a disapproving frown as the blonde managed to cut off the last string attaching his new band-aid to his undershirt. Gilbert opened his mouth, about to offer to help with the bandaging when the walkie-talkie Vash carried in a different vest pocket crinkled to life, cutting Gilbert off before he had even begun talking.

The voice came across raspy and labored and _extremely _furious_._

"_What the fuck did you idiots, and by idiots I mean Prussia, do, over?"_

Gilbert and Vash gulped simultaneously and locked eyes, Vash's silently begging him to talk in his stead.

The German started whistling and looked up, pretending he hadn't even made eye contact with the distressed Swiss, who was now scowling vehemently at him. The blonde used his unoccupied hand to maneuver and remove the walkie-talkie from his pocket. He stared at it like it was going to bite him before he licked his still bloodied lips and brought it up to his mouth.

"Roger, this is Switzerland. We ran into a bit of-"

Suddenly, the roar of engines erupted from the other side of the hill. His eyes widened as he heard the snow-mobiles Gilbert had pointed out earlier while they were climbing the tree, which he barely considered a threat at the time, barreling up the slope from the base and toward them.

"_Switzerland, over?_" crackled a voice over the line.

Gilbert took the walkie-talkie from Vash's slack fingers before he had a chance to come up with an intelligible response, and said gruffly into it, "we're going to have to call you back... over." The German shoved the device into one of his own pockets and then snatched the scrap of green shirt from Vash's hands. The engines grew louder by the second as Gilbert quickly tied the cloth around the other man's thigh. "Time to go!" He shouted over the engines, as he grabbed the blonde's wrist and began running away from the base.

Vash's head was reeling, letting the German take control over the situation as the pain in his leg dulled his critical thinking. He had grabbed his gun out of the snow when Gilbert dragged him past it, and was barely keeping up with the albino, his gunshot wound putting him at a major disadvantage.

He stumbled behind Gilbert, vision blurring with every step which caused the pain to surge up his leg anew. He knew both their lives depended on a quick and flawless escape, the trees would give them more time, but just barely. The Russians knew this mountain, and their knowledge of it was limited, based off old maps and small cam-bots employed by Japan before the mission. He couldn't stand to delay them any more than was necessary, he didn't want to drag Gilbert down with him.

Although Vash knew well enough how laborious his breathing was getting, even when he tried to breathe through his nose.

As he feared, Gilbert heard.

The albino glanced over his shoulder hurriedly and his eyes flashed in comprehension before he started slowing down to let Vash catch his breath a bit.

The shouting voices and the whirring of snow-mobiles behind them were soon accompanied by furious barking, and though the Russians were gaining fast, Vash couldn't find the strength in his legs to keep himself moving. He collapsed to his knees, then fell face-down into the snow, jerking Gilbert to a stop right before they entered the empty field that could spell death if they continued stalling here. They'd be open targets for the Russians if they caught up to the two before they were to the safety of the opposite lining of forestry, and Vash had enough sense left in his agony-addled mind to contrive that much.

He shook his hand free from Gilbert's grasp, letting it drop into the chilling snow that surrounded him. The icy snow felt heavenly to his aching bones, cooling his face and numbing his wound. He could hear Gilbert panting above him, and wondered vaguely what the albino was thinking about him right now. Probably that he was weak, that he didn't deserve a spot on this team. Maybe he'd abandon him like he'd abandoned his last teammate. Then Vash figured he didn't really _want _to know what Gilbert was thinking and turned his head to the side, resting an ear to the snow. He could hear it crunching and melting a little from his body heat, but paid no mind, letting his eyes wander around the beautiful scenery. Untouched snow, white trees, a winter wonderland.

He felt he could die here peacefully.

"Gilbert," Vash hated how breathy and forced his voice sounded, "you need to move. Leave me. You can't wait up around here or you'll die."

The German turned to him, almost angrily. Vash couldn't see his face, but he knew Gilbert well enough to be able to tell that he was mulling it over. Usually, the idiot just impulsively voiced his thoughts, when things were serious, however, he actually put a lot of thought into a decision.

Which, Vash felt himself thinking bitterly, may have lead to Gilbert's previous partner's early demise.

The Swiss pushed the thought forcefully from his mind and closed his eyes, wanting to think that Gilbert comprehended the situation and would hasten out of there and live to continue their _bigger _mission without him. ...Maybe that previous partner had made the same decision for Gilbert, asking him to leave him and continue living.

Then Vash regretted never prying Gilbert about the real story of the other partner, even though it was none of his business.

Regrets.

He had a lot of those.

And just like that, Vash realized he was about to die.

He wondered if it would hurt. He wondered if there was a heaven and a Hell, and if there was, which one he'd end up in. He wondered who would miss him. He wondered what Lili would do when she found out he had died.

..._Lili._

A strong wave of guilt washed over Vash like a bucket of freezing water.

He regretted never teaching her about sex (since now someone else would have to do it), never telling her about the horrors and joys of being in a relationship. He regretted not being there when she would grow up, get married, have kids. He regretted not being there to protect her from all the evils, and he regretted not being able to love her more than anybody else through her hopefully long life. He regretted that he'd be leaving her alone in a cold, harsh world to fend for herself.

That, he knew, would be his biggest regret.

Gilbert's cheerful voice interrupted his dark thoughts.

"If I get us out of this alive, the bet earlier is _null and void_, got it?"

Vash's eyes shot open.

"_Wha-_"

Gilbert flipped Vash onto his back in the snow, and the Swiss had about a millisecond to process the prominent smirk on the albino's face before he was scooped up like a princess in the German's annoyingly huge arms. Vash opened his mouth to protest and demand to be put down immediately, but one thought stopped him.

_Lili._

Lili was his lifeline, his reason for living. She was beautiful and innocent and had so much to learn about the world, and he had to be there to teach her it because he didn't really trust anyone else with her. He loved his little sister, and she loved him. Although, he did find it annoying when, after being babysat by the brunette nurse a few times _(never again_)_,_ she started insinuating he had "relationships" with other males in the agency. Including, but not limited to, Gilbert. He didn't even want to _think _about how she would react if she could see him now. He'd rather die than have her imagining horrible things like... like Gilbert and him _kissing _or something disturbing like that. He found himself wondering if Gilbert was a good kisser, did he use tongue? was he demanding? dominant? He surely pictured Gilbert as the dominant partne-

"Oi, Swissy, don't go to sleep on me now!" he heard Gilbert call over the ringing in his ears.

Vash wondered what exactly and _why _exactly he had been thinking what he'd been thinking, but he passed it off as delirium from his wound. He shook his head to clear it and bring himself back to a full state of consciousness and glanced about him, noticing finally that Gilbert, who had been making his way arduously through the snow with the extra baggage, was only a quarter way through the field.

Then he craned his neck to see over the albino's shoulder.

His breath hitched uncomfortably in the cold air, and he choked on the frail oxygen, making his eyes water and the scene he'd just taken in go blurry with tears.

"You okay, Vash?" queried Gilbert in rare, genuine concern, tilting his chin down a little to get a better look at his companion. He had obviously not yet noticed the eerie quiet that had descended upon the frozen woods like an almost suffocating blanket.

Vash found it hard to answer. His throat was constricting and burning as hot as the wound on his leg, making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak. Gilbert adjusted him to make him more comfortable but in the process gave Vash no access point to see over his shoulder or behind him.

Not that Vash needed to, the image was still burned in his head as clear as day.

He had killed them both.

Vash heard with keen ears the cocking of guns, the loading of weapons, the deep growling of hungry dogs...

"Gil," Vash whispered raspily, "_run!_"

In his mind's eye, Vash could still see the line of Russians and guard dogs, all weapons aimed at Gilbert's vulnerable, retreating back.

And the thought of seeing Lili again was wiped clean from his thoughts.

**Partners: Vash Zwingli and Gilbert Beilshcmidt**

**Current Assignment: Kill the three guards on patrol at the front gates to allow a smooth escape for the three agents inside.**

**Progress: FAILED**

**Condition: CRITICAL**

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><p><strong>AN: **Some more notes! I've read and reread and proofread and edited and added and deleted and cried out in frustration MANY A TIME over this chapter. Seriously. You lovely people have no idea how many times I've changed things in this chapter. It has been sitting in my harddrive since August of last year, pff. Joey has been helping me along with this somewhat and made it a little more bearable to OCD over when she told me that it was, in fact, good, which I had my doubts on.

The Mil Dot reticle is a sniping method that I only researched for a little while, sorry if the facts aren't straight. And yes, I actually did do those maths based on actual equations.

I used to have random German in their dialogue but then I figured, what's the point? They're speaking to each other in German anyway, and Vash's thoughts would be in German, too, so yeah. Random German would have been weird.

This is the longest chapter so far, and looking at it on this site makes it look a lot shorter than it is on Word but no matter!

FINALLY, any questions, comments, or concerns just drop a review or PM me. I'll respond. Maybe. Thanks for reading!

**Next Chapter: No Time for Hesitation; Arthur & Alfred**


	2. No Time for Hesitation

**A/N:**

Chappie two! Yes, I changed the name already pff. From Red Sun Rising to Freedom Fighters. I might switch it back though, I'm a very indecisive person xD. I don't really know why I'm posting this so early, I was planning to wait a week before uploading again but I'm in CELEBRATION because school just ended. Now I actually have time to have a life. Or have less of one.

I'll have some notes at the bottom of the chapter so happy reading!

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><p><span>Freedom Fighters<span>

_Chapter Two: No Time for Hesitation_

**Partners: Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland**

**Current Assignment: Retrieve the important documents and get out before being detected.**

**Progress: Documents recovered**

**Condition: Stuck**

America anxiously glanced right and left down the hallway as the alarms finally ceased their annoying ringing (he silently thanked Japan). He pressed back against his partner as a few men with AK-47s ran past, yelling at each other in Russian. Alfred felt the hot, labored breaths on his neck and closed his eyes.

He had to get them away. France and Spain were no doubt on the run already or in hiding, the Russians suspect everyone, and they barely knew the two men. They were capable of handling themselves though, so Alfred wasn't too concerned to begin with.

Then there was England. He was obviously tired from the constant running around, poor old man, and wasn't nearly as fast or strong as Alfred was.

Alfred frowned, once again glancing left and right down the hallway through the small crack in the broom closet door, now setting sights on two guards positioned on either end. He thought fast.

"Listen," he said urgently, craning his neck painfully to lock eyes with his partner, "I'll run out first to create a distraction. You have to-"

A gloved finger was roughly shoved to his lips as the Briton scowled at him.

"I knew you would say that, happens every bloody time, and _dammit_, America I'm no damsel in distress," he seethed, pulling a pistol from somewhere beneath his right pants leg with difficulty in the enclosed space and cocking it. "Now get out of my way. I'll take the one on the left. Got it?"

Alfred flinched, recognizing almost immediately the intense irritation of his partner, most likely a result of the conversation earlier with Prussia and Switzerland. England was worried, and he was, too, but the fiery Brit was also pissed off about the pair not giving a status update. Damn idiots, thought Alfred angrily, they screwed up the smoothness with which the operation was so far progressing. It was most likely Prussia, but one could never be sure, Switzerland had never dealt well with pressure. In any case they fucked up and let the Russians trigger an alarm. Which put him and Arty in a bad state.

The guards were alert now more than ever, patrolling the halls in threes and fours, if they still wanted a stealthy and flawless escape they'd have to move quickly but carefully.

"Right, should we leave the documents here and come back after we've killed them, just to be safe?"

He heard England scoff condescendingly, the only way he knew how. "Are you _daft_? How long have you been in this business?"

If Alfred had any room to stretch an elbow without smacking Arthur he would have scratched the back of his neck like he always does when England makes him feel stupid. Instead, he settled for a tiny, sheepish laugh. "Oh, right..."

He turned his head to meet the emerald eyes of his companion, drinking them in for a few seconds. They were beautiful, as always, with a spark of indignation and impatience shining in them, silently ordering Alfred to get a move on already.

The nervousness gave way to bravery and stupidity soon enough, and Alfred swung back around, putting a hand to the closet handle. He waited a little for the sounds of footsteps resonating from another corridor to fade before he whispered in poorly concealed excitement, "On the count of three... one... two... OW-!"

"_HOLD ON A BLESSED MINUTE!_" whispered Arthur furiously after he'd pinched Alfred on the arm and quickly covered the obnoxious man's loud exclamation of pain with his hand. "We're not doing this _your _way, you idiot. You'll have the whole bloody place here in seconds if we do it that way. We have to do it the _right _way, the _spy _way. You do remember what you are, don't you? Goodness sakes, didn't we just go over this?"

Alfred rolled his eyes and grabbed Arthur's wrist, pulling the hand away from his mouth with ease. "So we're doing your SBD attack?"

Arthur fumed and glared at the back of the infuriating blonde's head, scoffing at the sarcasm lacing the other man's voice and the derisive, but not necessarily ill-natured chortle thrown at the end of his question.

"Oh, yes, that's real fucking _mature, _America. Now go before I slap you."

Suppressing a laugh, Alfred said, "yes, _mum._"

The Brit sagely ignored the comment, and put the pistol back in its holster twined around his ankle with twice as much effort as it had taken to pull it out, replacing it with a Swiss army knife unsheathed from the utility belt around his waist. In front of him, Alfred had already removed his own knife and was once again grasping the handle of the closet door.

"Are you ready now, princess?" he asked with a smirk.

Arthur managed to bring his heel down on his partner's toe in the enclosed space with enough force to bruise; Alfred had to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out in pain.

"_One more smart remark and I swear to God it'll be your balls I'm crushing next,_" came Arthur's voice menacingly, hot breath falling on Alfred's ear; making the threat all the clearer and causing a shiver to travel up the American's spine. God knew Arthur would do it, and luckily Alfred did, too. So he was smart enough to shut up.

There was an intake of breath from behind him and Alfred knew his partner well enough by now to discern that this was his mental training exercise before a particularly intricate plan that could mean life or death for the both of them. Now that he thought about it, when compared to an incompetent spy like Alfred, Arthur seemed to be the more brave.

Mature, Alfred thought briefly.

And then he was all business.

"Three two one!" he whispered the numbers in quick succession, giving Arthur only a miniscule amount of time to further prepare himself for the sloppy "silencing" that was about to take place- appropriately deemed for its assassination-like nature- swift and quiet and meant to shut the target up. In most cases with spies this tactic was ill-advised because it meant inserting one's self within close range of the enemy, making them just as easy a target. It was risky, and could only be carried out with the utmost precision and care. It required stealth, agility, and subtlety.

Things that Alfred undoubtedly lacked.

The door opened, light filtered in threw the steadily increasing crack.

He pushed as quietly as possible, hoping against hope to avoid any creaks that doors tend to make when you want them to least. Luckily for them, it made no sound.

Sweat dripped down the back of Alfred's neck as he stopped the door just wide enough to allow them both through with relative ease. He heard Arthur swallow a lump in his throat and struggle to retain a sigh of relief. Alfred found his own throat too dry and cracked to do either of those things.

The shuffle of clothing behind him also told him that Arthur had just crossed himself. After a moment's hesitation, he did the same. Then he held his breath.

They tiptoed mutely out of the closet, Alfred going right, Arthur going left. Alfred counted one, two, three, four wide steps before he was behind his target, where he slowly straightened from his crouched position, beginning to count down to five as he knew his partner must be doing. This was the most delicate part of the whole procedure, the targets had to go down at the same time or the entire plan was ruined. The guard in front of him reeked of apprehension, anticipation, and vodka, he was fidgeting nervously from one foot to the other, switching the position of his AK-47 each time he did so; and he was also oblivious to the blade slowly, ever so slowly slipping over his shoulder like an anaconda from a hovering branch. Silent, Alfred thought wryly, but deadly.

Alfred got to three.

The headset with the portable radio embedded in his ear crinkled loudly to life, Alfred nearly jumped out of his skin, but he was already poised and ready, slitting the man's throat cleanly and efficiently. He heard a low gurgle from the man, but that was about it before he went down. Alfred caught him around the middle and lowered him to the ground and left him lying face down.

There, he thought, looking down at the blood pooling around the head and torso of the dead man, now he had the time to be completely enraged.

He put his finger up to the push-to-talk button when it crinkled back to life again.

Over it he heard a hail of bullets and the loud whir of an engine and the even louder rushing of wind. Alfred, alarmed, strained to catch snatches of the garbled speech screamed at him from a very distressed Switzerland.

"TH- -SSIANS- T UP T-" it cut off for a second "-SSIA – -JURED."

Alfred scrambled to comprehend the few phrases he did catch, then from behind him he heard a yell, gunshots, a thump, and his own heart threatening to shoot from his chest.

**Partners: Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland**

**Current Assignment: Retrieve the important documents and get out before being detected.**

**Progress: DETECTED**

**Condition: Undocumented**

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><p><strong>AN: **

Who knew this chapter was so short? I certainly didn't. I think I'm going to make these first... 10 chapters? Or so generally short, and then later type like 10,000 word chapters. Because I damn well can.

And I'm going to set something straight before anyone asks, I'm not being all corny and putting all the pairings I have planned together as partners. You'll see in two chapters. And there IS a valid reason for Prussia being Switzerland's partner, I just need to explain it. God there's so much to do! AHH!

I'm kind of dreading telling you guys about this though, as most of you will hate me for it. SO I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE.

Any questions, comments, concerns, feel free to PM me or just drop a review and I'll get back to you~. Thanks for reading!

**Next Chapter: Time for Quick Calls; ?**


	3. Time for Quick Calls

**A/N: **

A bit of a switch from the normal style, I hope you don't find it too confusing, pff.

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><p><span>Freedom Fighters<span>

_Chapter Three: Time for Quick Calls_

"Sir, sir!"

The doors of the dark room burst open to reveal a very stressed young man, brown hair blown back from the wind with force of his running. His eyes searched in the dark for the violet he was so familiar with, yet so unaccustomed to.

They locked on to one another.

"Sir," he breathed, trying to regain some composure. He felt his hands tighten on the important documents held in his hands, and gulped. His boss would not be happy about this, not at all, yet all his co-workers had immediately looked to him to deliver the message. As he took his first few steps toward the intimidating black desk with the ominous dark figure hovering behind it, he thought that he truly, truly hated his job. And his coworkers.

The icy man nodded in acknowledgment, straightening his back from laboring over some maps and pawns and towering over the lithe man that approached his desk and clumsily saluted.

"There has been an outbreak at Ural Outpost," he found himself rushing to deliver the information, although he wouldn't lie in saying he kind of rushed if only to get the Hell out of that creepy, seemingly blood-drenched office. "Some intelligence has been stolen and there are wounded men there, two are theirs; two are ours, the agents they sent are also escaping and we believe there are a few men working within the vicinity to assist the spies from the inside, but we can't detect or trace any of their signals. There were two suspicious men there earlier going by the names Akim Houdini and Randolf Blake who'd claimed they were sent by _you_ to entertain the men for an afternoon as a reward for all their hard work, the soldiers assured us they could handle the threat, if there was any, and they… er… Did their magic show and kind of stole all of the men's guns in the process. They are, at the moment, being chased by a hoard of our unarmed Russian soldiers."

The informant let out a breath at the end of his little speech, avoiding the eyes of his superior.

He could feel the scrutiny in the other's gaze, surveying him icily up and down, up and down. Then he felt the room drop a degree. The brave man ventured to glance up, and his eyes met a facial expression that never ceased to make a shiver run down his spine.

That smile, that eery smile. No teeth, no gums, no eyes, but you still felt his eyes upon you, you still felt his patent patronizing gaze on your face, you felt the air around you chill as the mere force of his icy attitude brought about a colder atmosphere. The informant shivered.

"Blow it up!" said the man with the violet eyes cheerfully, as if he had just granted the brunette opposite him a 'Happy Birthday.'

The informant's eyes widened. "E-excuse me? B-but sir! Your men are still out the-!"

A slither of violet emerged from the pale eyelids, locking on to the brave, stupid man. The deadly glare made said stupid man feel like a deer in the violet headlights of a giant truck with Satan at the wheel.

"Did I stutter?"

The informant swallowed thickly and locked eyes with the floor.

"N-no, si-"

"_Burn it to the ground._"

His tone never left the level of icy friendliness, with an underlying threat laced within them. He turned his back to the informant with an air of finality and clasped his hands behind his back a bit _too _tightly- something the young brunette knew from experience was a gesture of warning for the informant to _leave, and leave now._

He saluted, even though the man's back was turned to him, and scurried out of the office, the haunting image of the eery smile still printed clearly in his mind's eye.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

REALLY short chapter. I'll post the fourth one tomorrow.

Sorry for the late update, I actually nearly forgot about this story cuz of drama I've been having irl xD. So sorry again.

Thanks for reading~ Any questions, comments, or concerns? Just drop a PM or review.

See ya tomorrow!

**Next Chapter: A Time to Be a Man; Kiku**** & Jökull**


	4. A Time to Be a Man

**A/N: **

Okay so maybe this is a day or two late and I'm really sorry but bleh real life BLEH.

ENJOY in any case! More notes at the bottom.

Though I should note that Jökull is Iceland. To prevent confusion.

* * *

><p><span>Freedom Fighters<span>

_Chapter Four: A Time to Be a Man_

**Partners: Kiku Honda and Jökull Einarsson**

**Current Assignment: Get everyone out safely.**

**Progress: NEAR FAILURE**

**Condition: PANICKED**

The furious sound of tapping filled the small room where two men were hard at work. The only light in the room was the soft glow of twenty different screens showing various images from around the base. One of the men, black-haired and tiny, was alarmed, for good reason. His palms were sweaty, and his eyes darted momentarily from screen to screen in ill-concealed panic, the motions of his fingers across the keyboard were far from fluid and graceful, like that of his partner, instead they were frenzied, spasmodic motions which involved frequently hitting the backspace key.

The man seated perpendicular to the tiny man's own swiveling chair was a perfectly calm, apathetic, white-haired male. His fingers were long and elegant, floating along the keys with practiced ease. He stared stoically at the screen of a computer displaying windows and documents all over the monitor, occasionally his eyes shot to the right, or to the left to the televisions lined up along the walls. The tension was thick in the air between the two unlikely companions, broken only by the_ tap-tap_ping of the keys.

The tinier man put a hand to his ear, and spoke.

"Switzerland, Prussia, you've disappeared from the monitors. I need an update on your location, stat, over."

His voice was quiet, strained, tired. The man next to him didn't bat an eyelash at the extra noise.

There was a brief silence on the other end, before a loud crinkling noise filled the room, the black-haired man lifted a hand to turn the dial down on the headset. And was glad he did so, because only a moment later a booming voice shot through his eardrum.

"JAPAN!" shouted that all-too-familiar voice, but not the one he'd been aiming to hear.

At the same time, there was a soft tap on his shoulder and once the ringing in his ears died down to a dull hum, he could tell that the incessant typing had ceased. He waved off the hand, indicating he was busy.

"America? Is something wrong? Over," he replied gently, cautiously, afraid of what he might hear. They already had enough stress on their hands with Switzerland and Prussia, they did not need more problems to deter them from the increasingly arduous task of retrieving the entire team unharmed.

He was pretty sure either Switzerland or Prussia was already hurt now, but he wouldn't assume anything just yet.

His eyes scurried to the security camera monitor where he'd last seen America and England. They had disappeared, and there was a long blood trail from one side of the hallway to the other. The path, Kiku realized, was one he'd informed them to take just five minutes ago, when they were still hiding in the safety of a broom closet.

He followed the trail.

The crinkling started again.

"Japan! Art- England is hurt!" Japan felt his stomach drop uncomfortably, and color drained from his already pallid face. He continued to follow the blood with his eyes. It was growing more sparse as it trailed down one hallway, and another, and into the second floor stairwell. "They're after us! Open all the doors! We nee-"

The transmission cut off abruptly. There was another poke to his shoulder.

"...America..."

No answer.

The stairwell was crowded with running Russian soldiers.

Japan's breathing was ragged as he forced himself to comprehend the situation now thrust into his lap. He was responsible for their lives. It was a responsibility he agreed to undertake when he joined this team, but now, on the field, testing his skills to the limits and forcing him to make harsh calls, he was not sure he was ready to do it.

Poke.

Prussia and Switzerland had disappeared, and their condition, as of now, was unknown.

Poke.

England was injured, America was struggling to escape a hoard of angry Russian soldiers which he'd easily do if he wasn't weighed down with the burden of the wounded Brit.

Poke.

France and Spain were on the run from their own hoard of angry Russian soldiers.

Poke.

What was he going to do, he couldn't save one pair without abandoning the others, and they were all very important to him.

_JAB. _

Japan let out an undignified "_Itte!_" and turned to his partner in distressed irritation.

A paper was shoved in front of his face. A rushed document sent by the enemy to the enemy, from the looks of it. His partner Iceland must have intercepted their transmission. Kiku was impressed, and it reminded him he wasn't in this alone. It was a reassuring thought.

His eyes scanned the paper even after Iceland returned to his computer and started tapping away even more furiously than before. The more he read, the more his heart thudded uncomfortably against his rib cage. His hand slid slowly over his mouth as the horror of the message overtook him, all reassurances washed away.

He clenched his eyes shut, wishing he hadn't read what he'd just read, wishing that this was all a very, very bad dream.

His heart was in his lungs, constricting his breathing. His fist tightened on the note, it crumpled uselessly in his hands. He threw it to the side, missing the waste bin but _cleanliness be damned there was no time._

_There was no time. _

The weight of responsibility sat on his shoulders, trying to force him to yield to the inevitability of the upcoming disaster. A thousand thoughts whirled through his head at high speed, both optimistic and pessimistic, and he felt wind-blown. The thoughts kept coming from all sides, urging him, restraining him, taunting him. There was flashes of his friend's faces, of parties, of blood. Then one stood out.

_Coward. _

His eyes snapped open, he laid his sweaty hands to the keys, and started to type.

There was no point stalling. He had to act.

And if he didn't act fast, if he hesitated for even one moment, the mission would be blown to pieces.

Along with all his friends.

**Partners: Kiku Honda and Jökull Einarsson**

**Current Assignment: Get everyone out _alive. _**

**Progress: NEAR FAILURE**

**Condition: NO TIME**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

Short chapters, SHORT CHAPTERS EVERYWHERE.

Sorry again. Good lord. And this story is getting a little corny HAHA. Oh well!

I keep forgetting notes I want to make for these chapters since I wrote them a long time ago, pff. I didn't edit this chapter that much and it prolly shows. Again, OH WELL.

Note remembered! They speak to each other in English since Iceland doesn't know Japanese and Japan doesn't know Icelandic (rofl, wait, is that even his language? WOW I FEEL DUMB). But they both know English. So they speak that. Yes.

Translations:

Japanese:

Itte!: Ouch!

**Next Chapter: Time for a Reality Check; Francis & Antonio  
><strong>


	5. Time for a Reality Check

**A/N:**

This is so late! I'm updating tomorrow to make up for it. Sorry. :c

* * *

><p><span>Freedom Fighters<span>

_Chapter Five: Time for a Reality Check_

**Partners: Francis Bonnefoy and Antonio Carriedo**

**Current Assignment: Distract guards and escape smoothly.**

**Progress: Nearly escaped**

**Condition: Too happy**

"Hahahahaha~!"

"On hon hon hon!"

"OSTANOVIT' IH!"

The laughter of the two fleeing men was nearly drowned out by the loud clatter of boots and bulk pursuing them, shouting at them in Russian to stop.

"I cannot believe they fell for that!" yelled Francis to his partner, ripping off his fake mustache and brandishing it in the air like a flag.

The brunette, struggling to control his laughter, attempted to respond, "haha! I know! Give us your guns.."

"And we will make them DISAPPEAR!" finished the blonde, letting the mustache slip from his grasp and making the brunette burst into another fit of uncontrollable giggles, causing the teetering pile of guns in his arms to tilt dangerously to the left. The brunette took no notice.

Francis smiled at him. They had done their job and now were headed for the exit, everything was going according to plan, and Francis hoped it would stay that way. If there was anything he liked more than beauty and flirting, it was making a flawless escape. With this in mind, his eyes darted left and right as he quickly assessed their location.

"_When you leave the conference hall there will be a hallway forward and on both sides, take the right one. Run down that hall and take your first left, then at the end of that hallway on the right side there should be a door that leads to a stairwell. Go up two flights. Level 6. Veer left, run down this hallway and take your second right and three doors down should be a door with an engraving above it reading '_все за одного, один для Него_.' Open it. If it is locked, the laser pen can cut through the iron. The window is directly behind the desk. Don't try to open it, I'll do that for you. Good luck."_

They were coming up on the second right before the three doors down, this Francis was sure of. He was genuinely surprised that there hadn't been more guards after them since the alarm went off. It was less work for them, sure, but it had him worried… because less guards on them meant that there were guards elsewhere... After his comrades, for example.

'_It stinks,_' Francis thought bitterly, '_not getting news until after the mission_.'

He even felt himself flinch involuntarily at the word 'news.'

Francis' eyes darted to his partner, still laughing, oblivious, worry-free. Francis sighed. That's right, he already had one idiot to look after, he didn't have time to worry about the others.

"Oi, Spain, right yourself. We're coming up on that room that Japan mentioned earlier."

The giggles toned down a bit, and Spain turned his smiling face to the blonde. "So, now?"

_All according to plan._

Francis smirked, reaching a hand into one of his inner tuxedo pockets and removing a remote with the engraved words "ON" and "OFF" on either end of the switch. It currently sat on "OFF."

"Now."

He felt adrenaline surge through his veins as he made the sharp right turn and flipped the switch to "ON" with a flick of his thumb.

Behind them, there was a single yell, then an absolute uproar. Not able to resist for long, Francis took a look over his shoulder.

It was chaos. Bodies were strewn all over the tiled floor, some with their pants around their ankles, some with their chests seemingly glued to the floor while their arms flailed uselessly on either side of them, and even more were trapped beneath a dozen other writhing soldiers and unable to move.

Turning his eyes back to the front and ignoring the renewed peals of laughter from Spain, Francis silently thanked Japan, his inventions really were amazing.

Even the men who had refused the complementary coins from the "Fabulously Unmatched and Riveting Ultra Spectacular Show featuring Incredible Akim!" ...show were falling over the men who had taken them. Or they were already trapped under the masses, unable to lift both the weight of the person above them and the weight of the now two hundred pound coin. They had eight and a quarter minutes before the effect wore off.

More than enough time.

There was a flash out of the corner of Francis' eye to the right. It was from a sign hanging above a solid iron door, a silver plaque was drilled to the wooden backing of the sign and engraved on it was the same phrase that Japan had told him earlier. The one in Russian that France knew well, even through Japan's horrible pronunciation.

"**All for One, one for Him.**" The phrase made him grimace.

"We're here," he told Spain, gradually slowing down and stopping in front of the door. Spain followed suit, still chuckling lightly.

Then Spain craned his neck around the pile of guns so he could see and get a good look at their destination and frowned. "How are we supposed to get in?"

France scanned the iron wall again and frowned himself, realizing Spain was right. There was no doorknob, no button, no bar- nothing. He lifted his foot, and kicked the door, not surprised to find that it didn't move an inch.

Then he remembered Japan's next message: _use the laser pen._

"Well then," he said, reaching his hand into his pocket and removing a sleek, silver pen. He knocked on the door a few times with his other hand to find out where the metal would be easiest to burn through, and decided on the middle of the door. He aimed carefully with the tip of the pen and clicked. A tiny red beam shot from the tip and hit the door, smoke rising instantly from the place of contact and red hot burned metal beginning to form a lip beneath the carved area.

And so began the long, arduous task of using a tiny beam of light to slice through layers of solid metal. This required concentration, quiet, constant alertness, and a steady hand. France could do all these things, however, he could not prevent Spain from opening his mouth and annoying the Hell out of him.

"Hey, France?"

And so it begins.

"Yes?" France was seemingly unfazed by his partner, keeping all focus on the task at hand.

"How long will this take?"

"About 7 minutes."

"Oh... okay."

Seven minutes might be a risk, but the hole had to be large enough to fit them both comfortably and they weren't exactly small men. Plus this was a pretty thick goddamn door.

He continued carving in a slow circle.

A minute later. "Hey, France?"

"...Yes?"

"Can I put these guns down? They're kind of heavy."

"Sure, just make sure to throw them down the hallway away from the pile of bodies."

"Okay!"

France nearly flinched as all of the guns clattered loudly to the floor and slid some ways down the hallway.

He knew they didn't need the guns anymore, it wasn't part of the plan and it's not like they needed extra ammunition or guns at their base.

A quarter of the circle was done.

"Hey, France?"

France sighed. He wished he could just tell Spain to shut up, he really did. But last time he did the man had cried, not just whimpering, either, but full out sobbing, and France did not want to relive that experience anytime soon.

So he would cope with his saint-like patience.

"Yes, Spain?"

"How much longer?"

"5 minutes."

"Okay!"

He went quiet again, and France continued carving, his brows drawn together in irritation and concentration.

A little over halfway mark.

"Hey, France?"

France felt his eye twitch. "What is it now, Spain?"

"I'm bored."

"Entertain yourself."

"Okay!"

He thankfully went silent again, until France started hearing the steady '_Tap Tap Tap_' against the wall to his right. He figured Spain had started patty caking with the wall.

With about a quarter to go, the tapping finally stopped. France inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Uh... France?"

Francis felt like banging his head against the wall repeatedly until he induced some sort of coma or amnesia or enough stupidity to allow him to actively understand whatever the Hell this airhead had in his mind. Why was his friend so annoying? Couldn't he see he was trying to work? This took concentration!

"Spain, do me a favor and quiet yourself until I'm done."

"But, Fra-!"

"No buts, just let me finish."

"France, I really think you should-"

There was a click (France couldn't tell if had been his tongue or his finger clicking the pen) and the laser retracted back into the tip of the pen. Either way he felt like his patience just broke.

"What?" snapped France, head sharply turning right. "What could you POSSIBLY have to say that is more impo-"

Spain's eyes were closed, one hand tugging fruitlessly at the other, which was glued to a square blue grid that jutted out of the wall on a metal platform. A flashing blue line traveling vertically and horizontally over the grid told Francis exactly what it was and what it was doing. It was a Memory Grid and it was scanning his friend's sweaty, Spanish palms.

'_My God…'_ Francis thought, not taking his wide eyes off the grid.

"Nevernyi adres otpechatkov pal'tsev. Baza blokirovki nachato." A woman's voice said through the device, which France vaguely understood to mean: **Invalid fingerprint address. Base lockdown initiated.**

Spain grunted and pulled again, managing to break free of whatever force was holding him there and flying back into the opposite wall with an "_AY!" _He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, where he leaned forward and rubbed the back of his head in pain.

"Ay... ¿Qué pasó?"

He looked to Francis for an answer, but Francis paid him no mind.

He was glancing around frantically, searching for another way out, even though he pretty much already knew there wouldn't be, since Japan didn't make mistakes.

His eyes widened.

_Japan!_

Francis put a finger up to his ear and pressed down on the push-to-talk button.

"Japan," he said in English, as Russian, Japanese, and English were the only three languages the other man knew. "Spain accidentally set off the base lockdown sequence and we're going to-"

He abruptly cut off as a loud mechanical whirring noise filled the corridors with sound, meanwhile the Russians at the end of the hall started to yell at each other and stumble back onto their feet as the effect wore off. The time was up. Francis, expecting them to charge at him and Spain, heard vague snatches of "Begi!" _Run! _"Baza budet zakrytie!" _The base is shutting down! _"My dolzhny vyĭti!" _We have to get out! _

They fled back down the hallway toward the staircase, screaming "begi! begi! nebo padaet! nebo padaet!" all the while.

And Francis, glancing down at his confused companion still staring at the retreating backs of the Russian soldiers, somehow knew they were screwed.

**Partners: Francis Bonnefoy and Antonio Carriedo**

**Current Assignment: Distract guards and escape smoothly.**

**Progress: ?**

**Condition: In shock**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

Next chapter is my favorite so far, but this is a close second!

I'm guilty of using google for most of my translations, but for others I really tried hard to make the English to Russian actually make sense because sometimes doing English to Russian then back to English gets you something completely different from what you originally put. So I had to fix a bunch of stuff when I found that out. Here are the translations!

I'm only listing the ones I didn't translate directly in the story though.

Russian:

OSTANOVIT' IH: STOP THEM!

nebo padaet!: the sky is falling!

Spanish:

¿Qué pasó?: What happened?

Another note is they're speaking to each other in French, hence why I included a Spanish phrase. France's thoughts are, you've guessed it, completely in French. So I got rid of the random French phrases I threw in because what purpose do they serve REALLY.

Oh and their show? F.U.R.U.S.S.I.A. I don't know. I guess I thought this was clever (it's not).

I'm kind of losing inspiration for this story because I've had other things going on, but I'll try to continue with it. I really like the concept. c:

**Next Chapter: Heat; Vash & Gilbert**


	6. Heat

**A/N: **Well, this is awkward.

((Read the A/N at the bottom for a full explanation))

* * *

><p><span>Freedom Fighters<span>

_Chapter Six: Heat_

**Partners: Vash Zwingli and Gilbert Beilschmidt**

**Current Assignment: To not die**

**Progress: Far gone**

**Condition: Nearly dead**

"Gilbert?"

Who? He couldn't think of the name. He couldn't think much of anything. His head was clogged with images, with blinding pain, with exhaustion. And he wanted to sleep.

"Gilbert?"

He just wanted to sleep.

"Oh God… No.. Gilbert.. Gilbert.. Your head…"

Someone was there. Someone was saying his name. Someone was pressing down on his chest and he couldn't tell if they were real- was he dreaming? was he awake? was he dead?

"…please don't be dead, Gilbert, please don't be dead…"

He is not dead, at least not yet. He tried to open his eyes, to see who this person was. It was not a voice he recognized. Then again, if asked, he probably couldn't recognize his own voice right now. His mind was telling him that he needed to rest, to keep his eyes closed. He didn't need to see who it was. He needed to sleep.

"You told me not to go to sleep on you, so please don't sleep now, Gilbert. Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert…"

That was his name. He was Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt with the platinum hair and he was awesome. Very awesome. He pissed awesome every morning, noon, and evening. And his head hurt. It hurt very much and he just wanted to keep his eyes shut because the burning in his eyelids told him it was very bright outside and that it would hurt to have his eyes open.

Burning. It was hot. Burning hot.

Heat everywhere, why did he have clothes on? He needed to tell this strange person how hot it was. It was very hot.

Very, very hot.

But he couldn't make a sound.

"Australia! We need to be lifted out of here, stat! It's Gilbert, he's…"

"That's a big ten-four, Swissy, turning the chopper 'round now. Be sure to avoid the flames, over."

Flames. Flames were hot.

He felt his head being lifted and it hurt, so he groaned trying to get whoever it was to put him back down on the cool ground with the heat and the cold.

"I'm sorry, Gilbert.. bear with it."

He didn't want to. It hurt, it really, really hurt and it was blinding and he couldn't take it and he couldn't bear it he couldn't he couldn't he couldn't

And it was all there, all there, all there and he was screaming. He could hear the echoes and it hurt his brain it hurt it hurt but he couldn't stop, the more he screamed the worse he felt, so he had to scream more. And he writhed, he writhed trying to break free of the person but he couldn't and it hurt so badly and he just wanted to die already because it hurt so badly

His head, his back, his chest, his legs, they were burning and painful and he didn't want to move but he had to because this person was hurting him and _it hurt it hurt it hurt!_

"Gilbert, calm down! Stop thrashing, you're hurting yourself! You're going to kill yourself- GAH!- Gilbert!"

He wanted it to stop hurting, when would it stop hurting? Where was his brother? His brother would make it stop hurting. Mattie would make it stop hurting, too. Mattie always made all the hurt stop. Where was Mattie? He wanted Mattie because it hurt, hurt, hurt so bad and he couldn't think straight and his head was pounding and it was burning and freezing and hurting.

Who was hurting him? The strange person was holding him up and he couldn't lay down because of him and he couldn't sleep and he couldn't stop hurting. He wanted to see him and he wanted to hurt him, too, because he felt like he was dying and it wouldn't stop, his head wouldn't stop spinning and hurting and burning.

His eyelids were heavy and he couldn't get them to lift, whenever he would open them a sliver the light would sear his eyes and his head would hurt worse, and worse, and worse and then there was cool, comforting black edging into his vision and it was comforting and he embraced it and

**Partners: Vash Zwingli and Gilbert Beilschmidt**

**Current Assignment: To keep Gilbert alive**

**Progress: …**

**Condition: Undocumented**

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

HAHA I'm a terrible person.

So hey guys! It's been awhile (a year) and I just decided to put this up like a douche because it's been sitting in my computer for a year (holy shit) and oh my God I'm an asshole.

Life happened and that is my excuse.

IN ANY CASE, rereading this again after like a year from when I first wrote it is kind of awkward because, you know, I'd like to think my writing style has matured at least a little in that time and I don't know.

Gathering my thoughts from when I first wrote this, I remember being really interested in stream of consciousness writing which is why this chapter was my favorite chapter. Missing periods abound. They are meant to be, btw.

This may or may not be the last update, apparently I had another chapter half written out but I really have very little interest in Hetalia right now and the only reason I'm coming back to this is because I'm actually going to be writing a similar story only with OCs. The whole action-y drama bullshit really gets me because I'm stupid.

Aaaand I may or may not eventually come back to writing Hetalia stuff? I tend to flit around my addictions often and I've just recently started getting back into animu and mango so maybe.

MAYBE.

Now that I've ranted a crapload I'll just be awkwardly exiting stage left if anyone wants to watch me cower in a corner apologizing endlessly to the people who expect things from me.

And remember when I said I'd be updating tomorrow? A year ago?

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF 

SrslyI'msosorryomg


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